


I Didn't Know We Had a Stable Boy

by KissesCrimson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bottom!Derek Hale, Coming Untouched, Fingering, Gratuitous Smut, Just to be safe, Lord!Stiles, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek, eventually, general Kate Argent warning, mild d/s dynamics, stable boy!Derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissesCrimson/pseuds/KissesCrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the lord of his own estate, Derek is the stable boy. And Stiles wouldn't be the first noble to develop a certain fascination with one of their servants...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done for a prompt from Tumblr. Please be aware, the dub-con isn't graphic, but there's a substantial power difference that factors in a little. 
> 
> Prompt: shirtless stableboy!derek in the stables, lord stilinski standing behind him, first enjoying the view while leaning against the door, then shoving him up a wall and licking the sweat off his back while grinding against his butt

Derek doesn't even notice him, at first. It's been a long week and Derek is exhausted - exhausted enough, apparently, to completely miss the _lord_  of the estate watching him while he rakes hay and shovels manure.

Lord Stilinski's just lounging at the entrance to the barn, leaning against the wooden siding with one shoulder, looking beautiful and dangerous, and something about the look in his eye has Derek sweating nervously. When it becomes obvious the lord isn't going to say anything, Derek hesitantly straightens up and turns around, wipes the sweat and grime off his forehead and keeps his eyes respectfully lowered as he speaks. "Was there something I can do for you, my lord?"

Stiles' lips quirk up in a tiny smile, and Derek resists the urge to squirm when the man’s gaze rakes unashamedly up and down his body. "Not as of yet." His tone is light, almost teasing, and Derek isn't sure what to make of it. He hesitates again, but then Stiles says "You should really finish shoveling that hay," and Derek bites his tongue and obeys.

The young lord's eyes are a heavy weight on his back when he returns to his work, like a brand searing into his bare skin. Derek knows want when he sees it, knows the desire and the lust behind it, and he's not surprised when he feels Stiles' eyes on his back and ass when he bends down to pick up another barrel of hay.

The next twenty minutes pass in silence, and if Derek wasn't glancing behind him every once in a while he would have thought Stiles had left - but every time he checks the lord is still there, lounging against the door, just... watching him. It makes a part of Derek want to preen, like his wolf wants to show what a good mate he would be, even if that's completely out of the question - but what would it hurt, really? At worst, Stilinski will ignore him. So Derek does it, purposefully stretches after he finishes shoveling, feeling the muscles ripple and flex in his back and arms, then spends more time bending over than he strictly has to retying his boot.

There's a near silent groan from behind him.

Derek pretends not to have heard, moving immediately to stack the extra hay. A stable boy's work was never done, so he certainly had more work to do than Lord Stilinski had time to watch him do it. The hay doesn't take very long, and within ten minutes Derek is finished, panting slightly and a new sheen of sweat on his skin. He moves to replace the shovel, god forbid the stable manager caught him not putting the tools back in their proper places, when he hears Stiles finally push off the wall.

Derek freezes, breath caught in his throat. As forward as he's been, there's always the chance for this to end badly - maybe he was too forward. He doesn't quite want to turn around as the lord approaches, but he does anyway - or, he tries. He doesn't manage it, not with Stiles abruptly shoving him up against the wall and pinning him there, breath hot in his ear. "My lord?" Derek starts to question, but then Stiles is pushing him harder into the wall and grinding forward with his hips, and - oh.

Derek bites back a surprised sound when he feels the young noble's hardness pressing against the swell of his ass. He doesn't try to speak again after that; the way Stiles has him pinned there, hands demanding and rough, all speak of a sense of urgency, and Derek won’t get in the way of his lord and what he wants. Instead he bites back another low groan and shifts against the wood, then presses his chest against the wall and arches his spine, pliant under Stiles' hands.

"Fuck," the lord mutters, still pressing his cock against Derek's ass with every grinding motion forward, knocking him against the wall a little each time. "You are a dirty little tease." Derek isn't sure if he's supposed to respond to that, and then he's distracted when Stiles ducks his head down and licks a long strip up Derek's back, tonguing away the beads of sweat. Derek's blood feels like it's on fire, Stiles' fingers pressing against his back and hips like red hot brands.

He strangles a moan and whines pitifully when one of the noble's hands sneak around his body to squeeze at the bulge forming between his legs, and Stiles huffs a breath of laughter beside his ear. "I  _thought_  you might enjoy this..." Derek doesn't respond, again, just shudders under Stiles' hands and rocks into his touch. Derek can hear his smirk when he speaks again. "Nah-ah, none of that." Another quick squeeze, just shy of painful, and the hand is gone. Derek pants and whimpers softly but doesn't complain when Stiles pulls him away from the wall, the lord's fingers hooked in his belt.

"So, here's how this is going to go," Stiles says, and Derek hardly hears the words for how blown his pupils are, how much restrained lust is in his expression. "You don't want this, I am giving you a chance to back out." Wait, what? Back out? Derek is confused, and when he looks back at Stiles he seems conflicted for the first time in Derek's memory. "I mean it. If you don't want to I won't force it. But if you don't turn around and leave right now..." The lord's eyes go dark again, and Derek shivers. "I'm going to bend you over that bench right there and fuck you till you can't walk." It's not even a choice, not really - although Derek appreciates that Stiles is trying to give him one.

So many nobles wouldn't have asked, would have simply taken what they wanted just because they could, but Derek does want this, he does want Stiles, and when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a quiet "Please?"

It doesn't take any more convincing. Stiles licks his lips and grins, eyes alight with both mischief and arousal. "Good." And then they're kissing - or rather, Stiles is dragging Derek into a kiss, and Derek can do nothing but hang on for the ride. It's like flames across his flesh, sending every nerve ending alight and burning through his body till he's nothing more than a human-sized pile of goo. Stiles licks into his mouth, lips wet and hot and demanding, and Derek makes a soft sound of protest when Stiles pulls away.

"In a minute," the lord explains. He goes for his belt buckle, and Derek's brain kicks back into action, reminding him of exactly where this was going. The bench that Stiles had mentioned earlier was a mere few feet away, usually used for mending tack or leather work - after this, Derek highly doubts he'll ever be able to look at it the same way again. Stiles is busy, so Derek unfastens his own breaches and kicks off his boots - he's not wearing underwear, so going any further will leave him entirely naked. Suddenly he feels strangely shy, but then Stiles is back, running his hands up Derek's sides and down his front and pinching at a nipple, and it doesn't matter. "C'mere," Stiles is murmuring, pulling Derek over to the bench and pressing him down over it; Derek goes willingly, lets the young noble bend him over and finish yanking his pants off, till he's left panting and bare.

He jumps a little as hands return to stroking over him, but they're gentler this time, and Stiles' body is a comforting heat behind him. "Relax," Stiles says, hands slipping lower to kneed at Derek's ass. Derek takes in a gulp of air and does his best to obey - except then there's Stiles' /tongue/ running down his spine, lower, between his cheeks, and  _– oh._ Derek bucks and keens when the lord's tongue licks over his hole, strong hands gripping his ass cheeks and holding him open. Stiles flicks his tongue over the tight little pucker, laves at it, then abruptly attacks it, placing the tip of his tongue against Derek's hole and wriggling it. Derek is almost incoherent, gasping and panting and making soft, unintelligible sounds as Stiles gets him wet. Derek grips the bench till his fingers go white knuckled and does his best to stay in place, to just lay there and take what Stiles gives him - it's hard, though, with the man’s hot tongue probing into him, licking and hitting all those delicious places inside of him.

The tone's changed quite a bit from before; where at first it was all aggressive lust on Stiles' part, now the noble seems intent on taking his time, on drawing every little gasp and needy moan and desperate whimper out of him, and before long it's Derek who finds himself begging, trying to speed things up. "Pl-please," his voice is embarrassingly unsteady when Stiles licks a long strip from his balls up to his hole, toes curling with the sensations. "Please, my lord, need-" Derek breaks off with a sound that would make any two-cent whore proud when Stiles slides a finger into him, all the way up to the last knuckle.

"Hmm..?" The lord hums, twisting and curving his finger and making Derek cry out and arch and tremble. "More of this?" Stiles dives back in and licks around his finger, pushing his tongue into Derek's tight hole alongside the digit, and Derek whimpers and spreads his legs, uncaring of the barn's open doors and the strangers that could be walking by.

"Please, please," he begs again, feeling his hips hitch back against Stiles' mouth and fingers. Derek has never considered himself much of a dirty talker, or one for begging, but if Stiles didn't hurry things up... It would seem the lord was getting impatient, though, because he adds a second finger soon after the first, licking and mouthing at Derek's hole till he was dripping wet, and adds a third after Derek begs for it. The last finger is a tight fit, and Derek mewls with the stretch of it, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the bench for purchase as he is spread wide.

Derek is out of breath and covered in a second sheen of sweat by the time Stiles pulls away, and he can feel himself stretched open and dripping, the air of the barn cold against his open hole. Fabric rustles behind him, something is tossed to the ground and then a - lid is uncapped? Derek twists around to see Stiles with a miniature bottle of scented oil, probably worth more than Derek's entire wardrobe, and lets his head fall back to the bench when the lord drizzles a stream of it all over his swollen pink pucker.

There are no words exchanged, just the sound of Stilinski slicking up his cock, and then Derek feels the head of the man’s cock resting against his hole. It’s hot and impossibly thick, intimidatingly so, and Derek’s mouth falls open with a gasp when Stiles starts to press inside. He can feel himself open up to accommodate the noble, can feel his hole stretch and mouth eagerly at the head, before it slips all the way inside. Derek rests his forehead on his wrist, panting and legs shaking, and lets out an undignified sort of squawking noise when Stiles starts slowly pressing into him.

Stilinski doesn't give him time to adjust, doesn't go in increments, just thrusts forward in one slow, steady motion, like he wants to make Derek feel every inch of his cock as it makes room for itself in his body. And Derek does feel every inch, quaking and trembling and moaning high in his throat, Stiles' fingers firm like brands on his hips - and then it's inside, and Derek feels like he can't quite breath it's so big.

They both pant for a long moment, Stiles a firm weight behind and above Derek, and then he's moving, pulling out in an agonizingly slow drag just to slam back inside. Derek's body rocks forward with the thrust, a grunt punched out of him with the force behind it, and he doesn't even have the time to bring air into his lungs again before Stiles is repeating the motion. The noble sets a brutal pace, fast and hard and deep, and all Derek can do is take it, let Stiles do what he wants, and keen every time the lord's cock hit his sweet spot because  _fuck_ , it feels good to be used like this.

Derek feels his orgasm coming along not long into it, but either Stiles doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, because he just keeps fucking Derek right through it - fucks him when he comes untouched around his cock, Derek's ass clenching and spasming tight and spurting seed all over the bench. Derek's hypersensitive and a little dazed after, but he doesn't try to move, glad to just stay where he is while his lord seeks after his pleasure, rocking into the wolf’s body.

Stiles must have had a lot of practice, because the young lord holds out for a surprisingly long time - Derek's cock has just began to take interest again when he can tell Stiles' release is close. The man grips his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and his pace shifts from brutal to almost frenzied, quick and harsh as he pounds into Derek's ass. Derek shifts, trying to make it better, and started clenching and loosening his hole in time with Stiles' thrusts, rocking back into the noble as best he could. Stiles curses lowly, hips stuttering. "Fuck, you are so good like this," he growls, still pounding mercilessly into Derek's hole. "So - fucking - good-"

Derek whimpers in agreement and arches his back, trying to give Stiles a better angle. The pace is animalistic, ruthless, and the wolf’s making a constant stream of little noises, whines and high-pitched moans and cries. Stiles swears again as his orgasm nears, and he reaches down to palm at Derek's balls. Derek keens softly and lets his head fall back against the bench, keeping his hands gripping the bench by sheer force of will - and then Stiles is coming, groaning low as he pushes himself in and out of Derek a few last times, shooting rope after rope of hot come into him. The young lord just keeps rocking into Derek in almost gentle motions, one hand still toying with the wolf's balls as he comes down from the high. Derek can feel his come, thick and creamy inside him, his wet hole cradling Stiles’ cock as it softens. Derek shudders as Stiles grips his cock, fingers nimble and sure - it only takes a few quick, demanding jerks to have Derek coming again, shaking apart underneath him.

Stiles rests an arm on the bench beside Derek's shoulders as he catches his breath, and then smooths a hand almost affectionately over the wolf's back when he pulls away. Derek winces as his cock slides out, leaving him all open and swollen, leaking the lord's come. It should have been humiliating, but there was a shameful part of Derek that didn't mind so much, didn't mind being wreaked and brought low if it was by Stiles.

Apparently the lord seemed to have a similar idea; he hums lowly and circles a finger around Derek's hole, before gathering up some of the come that had tricked out and pushing it back into him. "This is a good look on you," he - teased? Was he teasing? Derek blushes furiously.

"I - thank you?"

Stiles snorts and pulls a handkerchief out of his tunic, cleaning his cock off and tucking it back into his breeches. "Really, is it." He finishes doing up the ties of his pants and steps away, and it was a cold sort of realization to Derek that this was it. This was all the lord had ever wanted him for, just a quick fuck. Now that he'd gotten it he would walk away, and Derek would pick himself up and do the same.

The wolf hesitantly pushes himself off the bench and reaches for his trousers, conscious of how Stiles was fully clothed and somehow completely unruffled, while Derek was still naked and covered in come, hair tousled and probably looking entirely debauched. He'd expected the lord to just leave, so it was with some surprise that he glances up when Stiles speaks again.

"Will you be here again tomorrow?"

Derek blinks, not daring to hope. "Yes, m'lord. I'm here most days." The noble smiles, actually smiles, and Derek's heart misses a beat in his chest.

"Alright."

There's no confirmation, no actual words exchanged beyond those, but Derek had no doubt that he'd be seeing Stiles again. Stiles, for his part, doesn't seem like he can think of anything else to say, so he just nods awkwardly before turning on his heel and striding out of the barn.

Derek picks himself off the bench and pulls his pants back on, relishing the slight ache he feels every time he moves, and goes to pick up the shovel again. He finishes his work with a smile on his face, and if there's a slight limp to his step, well, no one says anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chapter in two hours on the spur of the moment, I apologize for the general sloppiness/spelling errors.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's arrangement with Lord Stilinski continues; a new problem arises.

Derek's breaches are filthy from kneeling on the dirt floor, but he doesn't care. At the moment all he cares about is the aching hard cock in his mouth, and the way the man attached moans and grips at his hair when Derek swirls his tongue underneath the head. 

They've been doing this for a few months now, Stiles sneaking out of the palace and Derek putting his work aside to make time for their meetings. He always walks away sated, even though he doesn't always come himself – strangely enough, knowing that he has seen to his Lord's pleasure is enough to keep him content, at least until he can jack off in private.

A tingle of pleasure-pain jolts down his spine as the young nobles' fingers tighten in his hair, and Derek makes a little mewling sound and sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks around Stiles' cock and pressing himself down further until he feels the head hitting the back of his throat.

Stiles groans in response and his hips jerk forward; Derek gags just a little bit before he gets himself under control and relaxes, letting his throat muscles go lax so he can take it in deeper. Stiles is making little grunting sounds with every aborted thrust now, feeling the silky clutch of Derek’s throat around his cock, and Derek dares to steady himself with a hand on the Lords hips, encouraging him to fuck into his mouth properly. 

Apparently understanding the nonverbal go-ahead for what it is, Stiles lets his head tip back and abandons all form of restraint, gripping Derek's hair hard and pistoning his hips. It’s not slow or gentle; Stiles fucks his mouth like it’s his ass, hitching his hips back and forth in a brutal, unforgiving rhythm, holding himself inside. Soon the head of his cock forces its way past the back of Derek’s throat, and the wolf jerks, a few tears spilling down his cheeks.

Even with the fast pace, though, Derek has had enough experience by now that he doesn't choke, just stretches his lips open wide and does his best not to gag as the Lord's cock shoves into his throat with every inward thrust. Stiles' dick is silky soft and heavy on his tongue, and Derek makes it a personal mission to wrap his lips as firmly around it as possible, massaging the underside with his tongue whenever he gets the chance and sucking firmly when Stiles is pressed inside.

It's not long after that that he feels Stiles' rhythm falter; Derek spreads his legs a little wider to relieve the pressure on his own cock, and he’s confused confused when instead of thrusting harder, Stiles grips his hair and pulls away instead.

"My Lord?" He questions cautiously, his voice gravely from the abuse, but Stiles doesn't give him long to worry.

"Open your mouth," the young noble growls, and Derek is quick to comply, tilting his head back and letting his lips fall open.

The wolf quickly understands when Stiles takes himself in his hand and begins to strip his cock; he licks his lips in anticipation, and hesitantly peers up at the Lord through his eyelashes. Stiles curses in response, and Derek can see the way his abdominal muscles contract. A few seconds later and he’s coming in hot, white streaks all over Derek's face, groaning loudly as he paints the wolf’s cheeks and neck. Some of it lands in his mouth, splattered all over his forehead and clumping his eyelashes, and he eagerly swallows what he can reach, licking his lips for the leftover drops.

It takes the young noble a few long moments to recover from the orgasm, and Derek leans back in to carefully lick his cock clean, suckling the last traces of come off the head. Derek doesn’t try to get up – he is oddly content in his position kneeling at the Lord's feet. He probably should be worried about that, should be concerned by how right it feels to be covered in Stiles' come on his knees in front of him, but he isn't.

Derek's family have been dead for years, and since then he's had no one, no friends, no one who cared about him, no one he could get close to. This strange relationship he has with the Lord of the estate is the closest thing to caring anyone has ever done for him. Logically he knows that line of thought is not safe; he's nothing to Stiles, just a quick, convenient fuck, just a single note in a symphony of people willing to suck his cock, but Derek can't help it. Even if he's just a convenient place to find pleasure, he doesn't want what he has with the human to end.

Either Stiles is of the same mindset, or he just finds Derek particularly alluring or satisfying, because he keeps coming back, regularly, for the next two months. Often they meet in the barn, but Derek isn't always assigned work there, and by the end of the four months they've fucked in more places than Derek had ever thought he would be naked in; the stables, the armory, the forge, the servants quarters, even in a closet in the palace kitchens. He wasn't technically allowed inside the actual palace, but he had been sent on an errand by the stable master, and had run into the Stilinski on the way out.

Of course, eventually the other servants get wind of what’s happening, and while they don’t dare tease the Lord of the estate, they hold no such reservations towards Derek. But he can bear the taunts, the whispered comments about how Lord Stilinski had made Derek his personal whore, if it meant Stiles keeps coming to him and leaving with that content, almost fond look in his eyes. Granted, Derek thinks it’s more the kind of look that a man might give a prized pet than another person, but he will take what he can get.

It’s six months into their arrangement when something first goes wrong. Derek has just rolled out of bed, hair tussled and the crust of sleep still itching in his eyes, when he’s hit by a powerful and unexpected surge of nausea. The wolf is not the kind to get sick, but regardless, he spends a good half hour heaving and retching over the chamber pot before he’s able to drag himself out to the stables. He receives a sharp verbal thrashing from the stable master for being late, and is told not to go for lunch or take a break until he’s finished his assigned work.

Normally, it would not have been a problem, but it’s a mere two hours later when he finds himself outside the barn being sick again. He feels shaky and lightheaded, and it’s all the worst because he doesn’t know what was causing it – werewolf can’t catch the flue.

Exhausted and worried, Derek heads back inside to try and finish his work.

The next day passes much the same, and the one after that. When three weeks have gone by and he has neither keeled over from sickness or recovered from the symptoms, a suspicion begins to grow in the back of Derek's mind.

Two months and many visits from Stiles after that, his belly had begun to swell.

Derek doesn’t tell a soul, and tries his very best to hide his condition from the people around him. All the while the small budge grows steadily larger, a cold pit of dread twisting in his gut. Male pregnancies are extraordinary rare, even amongst werewolves. On top of that, there was only one possible father, and Stiles was a Lord, only a few steps below a prince. He couldn't afford to have illegitimate children running around, much less half breeds.

Derek has heard horror stories of other servants who became pregnant with their masters' seed; he can’t really believe that Stiles would do some of the gruesome things in the tales, but he also can’t trust his child's life to belief. And it is his child; Derek has been alone for so long, the thought of making a pack, even a tiny one, is impossibly alluring. So he keeps his head down, he stays quiet, and he tries to come up with a plan. And all the while, the cold pit of fear in his gut grows stronger.

Then Lady Argent comes to visit. 

Derek has heard of Lady Kate Argent; everyone has. The first daughter of Duke Gerard Argent, heir to the Agent hunting empire and fortune, the woman was perhaps one of the most well-known ladies of her age. She was opportunistic, cruel and intelligent, like the rest of her family had proven to be. These hunters, Derek knows, are not the type to wait for cause or justification before putting a wolf down, so he keeps his distance while she’s there. Once, he catches a glimpse of them on the castle walls; Katherine in her fine pearl dress, and Stiles beside her, the smile around his lips too tight, his shoulders too stiff.

Derek wonders if anyone else can see that Stiles doesn’t like her – and two days into her visit, he discovers why.

Ironically enough, he’s once again raking hay in the stables when a delicate cough sounds from behind him. The wolf straightens and turns to see the newly arrived Duchess standing at the entrance of the barn, delicately curled blonde tresses glistening in the sunlight. She’s wearing a deep blue gown, accentuated with hand-stitched beads and pearls, carrying a pastel parasol, and if he hadn't seen the cold look in her eyes, Derek would have thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Lady Argent," he greets with the customary bow. "May I be of assistance?"

The woman hums and doesn’t respond at first; the resemblance to his first meeting with Stiles is uncanny.

"Not as such," she answers, picking up the skirts of her dress to step further into the barn without dirtying herself. "I was thinking that perhaps we could talk," she says with a deceptively innocent shrug of her shoulders. "Conversation gets so dull in the palace.”

Derek doesn’t respond immediately, sensing that there is more to the inquiry. Still, he can’t afford to seem impolite, so he sets his shovel down and clears a clean space on one of the benches. "Would you like to sit, my lady?" He offered.

Lady Kate wrinkles her nose delicately and shakes her head. "I won't be here long," she states. Her tone has changed, and Derek knows they’re getting to her real reason for being there. "The nature of your relationship with Lord Stilinski," She says, watching him sharply. “What is it?” Derek blinks, first surprised, then wary.

"I wouldn't know what you mean, my lady," he responds. "Lord Stilinski is simply my employer." 

"Your employer," Kate repeats, a glint in her eye. "He employs  _you_  to shovel manure."  Derek's brow furrow at the words, unsure what they mean, but the next words are like a bucket of ice down his spine. "Does your lord know you're carrying his spawn?"

Derek feels the blood drained from his face. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, and he tries to be convincing, he [i]does[/i]. But the words are too sudden, they hit too close to home, and Derek can hear the way his voice shudders and goes too flat in the middle of his denial. 

"Oh, come now," there’s something cruel and almost gleeful in Kate's expression, and it makes Derek go cold inside. "Did you really think no one would notice? Granted, you hide it well, but a woman will notice. Or, well. A hunter will." The Duchess smiles widely as she steps forward, reaching a gloved hand towards the swell of his stomach, and Derek is frozen. He has managed to hide it up till now, wearing baggier shirts, but with Kate's delicate hand feeling over the curve of it, the bulge is obvious. "I wonder," she murmurs, "what your darling Lord Stilinski would do, if he knew his bitch was carrying his filthy halfbreed pups." 

Derek finally can’t take the proximity anymore, and pushes her hand away, taking a few rapid steps back. He feels lightheaded, like a cornered mouse. Somewhat ironic, considering. She’s a hunter, but he’s a servant in a well-known household – she can’t simply make him disappear, not without repercussions. Even the Argents pretend to have rules. "I have done nothing wrong,” he says lowly. "You have no business threatening me."

"Let's leave that up to me to decide, shall we?" Kate says, honey sweet. "There's something I want you to do for me."

A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitches.

"I need you to ask Stiles something for me," she says. "He's been rather reticent, and something tells me he's a little more loose-lipped when he's with you." The Duchess smirks, and Derek has never seen a look so lascivious on a woman so high-born. 

Derek’s still feeling lightheaded, and he thinks wildly that this might all be a dream – a dream that he was sure to wake up from soon. But it isn’t, and he doesn’t, and he still finds himself faced with a woman who is much more dangerous than he had first assumed. "So what do you want me to do? And why the hell would I do it?”

"Simple," Kate smiles. "Lord Stilinski has the ear of the royals, and their trust. Word has it that the king has stored something in the Stilinski vaults, something of great value. I need you to ask him who carries the key… and then I need you to get it for me."

"That's treason," Derek protests, and there’s a horrible certainty in his gut, cold and harsh, that she isn’t going to let him off the hook. "People have been executed for less."

Kate raises an eyebrow. "Yes, and I can assure you, execution would be preferable to what would happen if your young Lord discovered what you are carrying in your belly." Her gaze turns hard, completely pitiless. "And I guarantee that he will find out, if you do any less than your best." For a moment it seems like she will stop there, but then she’s stepping closer again, and Derek’s back is already against the wooden wall of the barn. “Do you know what we do to wolves who get bred before it’s time?” She questions, tipping her head aside with a sickly smile. “There are a few ways. The most popular is aconite; you’ll be strapped down and force-fed wolfsbane until your child dies in your womb. Or we might make an incision, and dig around with something sharp... Of course,” and Kate grins, then, and Derek wonders how he didn’t see the insanity in her gaze until now, “a good, sound beating usually does the trick, too.” Her hand digs into his stomach, nails sharp like claws, and then Derek is yanking away, giving her a wide berth as he steps back, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“You’re mad,” he informs her, and she giggles. It sounds like fairy dust and church bells, and Derek gets it, now, how this woman has fought her way up to the very top of the socialite ladder and managed to stay there. “You can’t do this,” he says.

“Oh, but I am,” Kate answers, and her expression sobers quickly. “Get the key, dog. Or you and your litter die slow.”

Derek grits his teeth, but then he puts a hand on his swollen stomach, feeling the life pulsing within. He wants to trust Stiles, wants to believe that the Lord has Derek’s best interests at heart… but really, what grounds does he have to think that? Derek is nothing to Stiles – and he knows that humans turn ugly and vicious when their fortunes are threatened. Derek closes his eyes, and looks back to the dirt floor, hands curling into fists at his sides. He could run. Steal a horse and disappear. But then he’d be wanted, _hunted,_ by humans and hunters, and he can’t raise a child in that kind of life. When he speaks again the words feel like gravel against his throat.

"Fine. I'll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, chapter 3 IS coming. I know it's been like... four years. So sorry, guys. Bear with me a while longer.


End file.
